


My Only Mistake

by TheThirdTemptationOfParis



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, John Watson is Softe, Kissing, Love Confessions, M/M, So is Sherlock, also Baby Watson is Fake AF, just let them Be
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-19
Updated: 2016-10-19
Packaged: 2018-08-23 08:54:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,423
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8321722
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheThirdTemptationOfParis/pseuds/TheThirdTemptationOfParis
Summary: John realizes he's made a mistake. He's made a mistake in not loving Sherlock when he could have.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I started writing this on a whim a couple days ago and only got around to finishing it now because I've been super busy. But I like it, I think it turned out okay. This work is not beta'd or Brit-picked. Feel free to point out any discrepancies or mistakes if you find them.

_Dear John,_

_You called me a hero once, and I didn’t believe you. I guess I should have. Or I should have played the part more convincingly. But I should have known I couldn’t fool you. I tried so hard to make you believe me when I jumped, but I knew you didn’t. But you still left. Though I guess I can’t blame you for that. I came back, though. I came back and you were with her, and I tried to let you go because she saved you when I wasn’t around to do so. I did what I could for you and for her because I wanted you to be happy. So when she shot me… I lied to you. I knew she wanted to kill me. But you loved her, and I think in some twisted way she loved you too. One thing I’ve always done, John, is put your happiness before my own. It’s of the utmost importance to me, more than cases, more than breathing, more than anything. I didn’t question it when you forgave her at Christmas. Though, thinking back to the months before, when you were home, I don’t know how to explain all the tension in the flat. I thought maybe, just maybe, it was going to happen. That maybe one morning we’d wake up, pull our heads out of our arses, and just be. There were times where I thought you would, or I would, but I think we were, and still are, scared. What are we supposed to do? You’re there with her and I can’t have that… I don’t even know if writing this letter is worth it. I’m never going to give it to you._

Sherlock put a stop to his useless writing, dropped his pen, and blinked. A single tear slipped down his cheek and hit the paper. He silently chastised himself for being so weak. It was just a letter. As if through water, he heard the front door of 221B being opened and a familiar gait ascending the seventeen steps. _John._ Sherlock wiped his face and turned around in the desk chair just as John opened the door to the flat.

“John.” he said with as much stability as he could muster. He also too in everything about John’s figure and posture as he stood in the doorway. _Hunched. Tired? No, deflated. Defeated. Hair standing up in all directions. He’d been running his hands through it. Stressed. Thinking._ “What on earth are you doing here? It’s almost half one in the morning.”

John sighed and his shoulders slumped forward even more. He ran a hand through his hair, more tufts defying gravity. “I don’t really care what time it is, Sherlock, all I know is I just made the biggest mistake of my life.”

Sherlock stiffened and waited for John to turn and leave again, but instead, he took a step further into the flat, “And I don’t mean coming here is my mistake, Sherlock. My mistake is keeping what I’m doing from you.” John kept inching into the flat, still on high alert. Sherlock stayed silent, knowing John would speak when he wanted to. John clenched his fists at his sides and looked at him with expectant eyes. 

“You forgave her at Christmas, John. I expected you to. She’s your wife.” he said, looking down at the floor, “I’m not asking you to explain yourself to me.”

John stepped closer, somewhat invading Sherlock’s personal space, “I know you’re not, but I need to, because that, that look right there, is something I don’t want to see on your face again. It’s resigned, guarded, unexpecting. I want you to be expectant. Sherlock, look at me,” John’s voice was soft, but stern, and Sherlock pulled his eyes from the tattered carpet, “I have made so many mistakes in my life, but compared to this, they’re all minor. Now, I want you to listen carefully. Can you do that for me?” Sherlock nodded.

John took a deep breath, steadied his nerves, and began, “My one mistake was leaving you that day at Bart’s. My one mistake was believing you were dead. You were always so good at fooling me, I should’ve known. My one mistake was leaving Baker Street, even after a year and a half of fruitless waiting. Did I ever tell you that? I waited and waited, but sometimes, waiting hurts. I think you know that well by now?” Sherlock nodded again.

“My one mistake was actually saying yes to her when she asked me out to dinner. My one mistake was moving out two days later. My one mistake was stopping and looking over my shoulder for you after a year and seven months. My one mistake was going through with the engagement when you were _right there_. So _close_ and so _alive_. I could’ve had you then. I should’ve had you then.” Sherlock averted his eyes to his wringing hands. He had wanted to hear this for so long, but now that it’s here, it’s so overwhelming.

He heard John’s footsteps approaching, and then the man himself was crouching down between the V of Sherlock’s legs, a hand coming up to settle on his knee, “Look at me, please, just look at me.” John’s voice was so soft, but so strained, Sherlock could do nothing but look. He had tears in his eyes. They both did. “My one mistake was marrying her that day. My one mistake was not kissing you the night before, my last chance. We were so drunk, but _God_ you looked beautiful. But Sherlock, my _only mistake_ was not staying after she shot you. My only mistake was not loving you the right way as soon as I could. My only mistake is putting you through this.” John’s hand moved from his knee to his face, and he leaned into the touch, tears falling as he shut his eyes.

“Say something.” John said quietly, his thumb running along Sherlock’s cheekbone.

“ _John._ ” Sherlock’s hands came up to grip John’s biceps, fingers digging in hard, trying to convince himself that all of this is real. He could feel John’s heartbeat, jumping and erratic, and it took every ounce of willpower Sherlock had to not leap on him.

“Right here, love. I’m right here.”

Sherlock broke. He dropped off the old desk chair and into John’s lap, his arms, burying his face in John’s neck. John’s hand came to the nape of his neck, and soft murmurs flowed from his lips, “I’m right here, sweetheart, I’m not going anywhere. Not ever again. Sh, sh, sh, ‘Lock, s’alright, s’alright.” 

John’s other arm came up under Sherlock’s knee and lifted him to settle them both into John’s chair. He rubbed Sherlock’s back, still whispering. When Sherlock pulled back from John’s neck, he was met by that deep blue stare that always captivated him. John smiled at him and wiped his tears away. “Hey, you.” he whispered, a hand still on Sherlock’s cheek, “Would you mind terribly, if I finally kissed you?”

Sherlock puffed out a short laugh and said, “You ridiculous man, of course I wouldn’t.” He leaned in, determined to get every last bit of John, but the kiss wasn’t at all what he expected. If he was honest with himself, he had always fantasized as hard and biting, desperate and messy, but John, John Watson, captain as always, made him settle. It was soft, but sure, slow and not at all lacking in passion. In Sherlock’s mind, it ended far too soon, but maybe that’s because John knew him better than anyone, and knew that his mind was racing.

When they separated, Sherlock chased John’s lips, but was held at bay, though they were still only mere inches apart, “I finalized the divorce papers this morning. She was gone when I got home. No note, nothing except for a fake pregnancy belly in the bed. I think that’s pretty self explanatory. And Sherlock, I want you to hear me when I say this, okay?”

Sherlock scoffed, his emotions reining in, and John smiled, “There you are. I love you so much. And believe me when I say there is nothing I would not do to rewrite our entire past. I loved you then, I love you now, and I’ll love you for always, if you’ll have me. Please, say you’ll have me.”

“As if I could ever say no to you, John Hamish Watson. As if I could ever do anything other than love you.”

**Author's Note:**

> Check me out on Tumblr? [maryisnotsorry](http://maryisnotsorry.tumblr.com/)


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